


It Doesn't Happen Often (Only it Does)

by lavenderlotion



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 04:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18176132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: It doesn’t happen often.Only it does.Only, it does.





	It Doesn't Happen Often (Only it Does)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_crate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/gifts).



> This is nothing like anything I would normally write, and I blame red_crate for this angsty trip into this fandom. Rude.

It doesn't happen often.

The first time. The first time had been one of the worst, had left Steve shaking, held up by the hood of Billy's car, warm underneath his hands after his knees had given out. Fire licked up the side of his face, erupting from the spot Billy's knuckles had connected with his cheekbone and tore open skin. Warmth trickled down his cheek, and his next breath shuddered out of him as a sob when he saw the drop of blood that hit his forearm.

He was pulled from the haze his brain had settled into by a hard thud in front of him, and he looked down to find Billy already there.

“I'm sorry, Steve, baby, I'm so sorry, I didn't, I didn't—” Billy had spewed apologies in a voice Steve had never heard before, a voice that was nothing more than a broken plea, a voice that had brought Steve to his knees.

Billy's jaw scratched Steve's palm with day-old stubble, sharp, and his face was wet when Steve thumbed the skin under his eyes. When he looked up, after a moment that went on forever and for no time at all, his eyes were red-rimmed, bloodshot and shining—gorgeous. When their lips met, the soft slide of chapped skin distracted Steve from the burning pain along his face, and he fell into Billy’s warmth and he let him lick into his mouth, the taste of iron stuck to their lips.

One of them, or both of them, made a noise, hurt and ugly and broken. Steve let it get lost between them.

 

It doesn't happen often.

But it happens.

It happens when Billy gets too mad, conditioned by his own upbringing to resolve his anger with physicality. It happens when Steve doesn't back down; when anger, bright and hot and unlike anything he's ever known, licks up his spine and digs in. Stays. It happens when their words are tipped with daggers, meant to cut, spit out with the intention of digging in and rending flesh.

It happens, and it's both of their faults and neither of their faults. It happens, and Billy cries and cries and Steve falls into Billy's warmth like it's the only thing keeping him alive, lets soft kisses and softer hands distract him from the pain. He breathes in their shared air and breathes out sin; Billy marks his body with teeth and tongue, leaving behind bruises that Steve welcomes, that he arches up into, bruises that he begs for.

Billy enters him, fingers wet and gentle, so very gentle, and they both cry. Steve pulls Billy against him, runs hands that have never struck out in anger up and down Billy’s back, and he leaves behind long red lines that prove he was there. Billy will hold his hips in a soft grip, fingertips skating up skin but never, never leaving marks.

When they come, it is so often done together, Billy buried so deep that Steve doesn’t know where he begins and Billy ends. They are one, joined together more intimately than either has ever been with someone else—laid bare and barren and wholly for the other to see. And they see, and they keep their eyes open, and they don’t look away. 

 

It doesn't happen often.

Though when it does, it always— _ almost always _ —, happens behind closed doors or in abandoned parking lots. One time, someone saw. Nancy's face had gone white, paler than Steve the time she had dressed up like a zombie for Halloween, and her shaking hands had raised to cover her shocked mouth. She had stepped forward, her hand outstretched as if to touch the blooming bruise or the leaking blood on Steve’s face, until Billy had growled her backwards. 

She had fled. She had fled and Billy had fallen to his knees and placed his forehead against the soft skin of Steve’s stomach, and Steve’s hands had found their home in Billy’s hair, and it had all felt like a dance they had long since learned the moves too. Later, after they had come together and had had each other and had  _ loved each other _ , Steve wondered if things would be different now.

When Nancy had seen them, next, hands twined together and whispering sweetness into the other’s mouth, her lips had gone very tight and very white and her eyes held fire that she bit down. Her hands had shaken with fury where they were clenched into fists, and Steve had thought, for a moment, she would say something, like she so often did, but she did not.

Maybe he would have listened, if she had.

 

It doesn’t happen often. 

Sometimes. Sometimes it’s all soft. Soft words and soft hands and softer hearts. Sometimes they are together and there is no anger, no sharp words, no bloodied fists. They both crave the softness, yearn for it. Always. When Billy is happy and Steve is pleased, when there is no need for anger, they can be soft. 

They can be soft when there is nothing else. When there is no one else. And they are. They get to be soft. Billy’s head will find Steve’s stomach, as it so often does, and he will press his forehead against Steve’s bare skin. Hands will wrap around Steve’s waist and they will hold him, in a grip that implies they never want to let go. Steve, Steve never wants to be let go. 

It is what they both want, always, and what they get often, but never often enough. Their softness is for them and only them, as it does not invite cruel whispers or twisted lips or angry, angry words. Their softness is theirs and they  _ love _ it, need it, will always crave it. 

They will always crave it.

 

It doesn't happen often.

Though when it does happen, and it  _ does _ happen, they both have to deal with the fallout. The whispered words and the ugly looks and the judgment that is passed over them, that has always been passed over them, from a town too small. 

Steve wears a purple-dotted bruise along his cheekbone—or his jaw or his nose or his temple, wherever Billy’s fist had happened to land—and he will display a necklace of vivid, red marks formed by the shape of Billy’s mouth. They will walk together and their smiles will be happy and their hands will be laced together  _ and everyone will know _ . 

The whispers follow them. They don’t stop, they will never stop, so long as Billy never stops.  _ You don’t need to be with him, really, Steve. If you’re scared, we can get you help, we can get your help, we can get you help... _

They are loudest during the quiet nights they spend alone, houses apart, separated by their teenaged years and parents who think they know what’s best. When they are together, soft and sweet and so, so good, it is easier to let the pounding of their excited hearts drown out the judgment of strangers-that-have-never-been-strangers.

They might know what’s best. 

 

It doesn't happen often.  
  
But once, it happened, worse than all the times before. Steve’s words had been laced with venom, toxic as they bubbled up his throat and burned his lips, spurred on by exhaustion and pain and a deep, soulful ache that he could never get rid of. He had said them because he had known how much they would hurt, and there had not been an ounce of truth in his voice but Billy had not cared. 

_ I could leave you _ .

The words had been a threat. Steve had known and Billy had known, and Billy had backed Steve against a wall with hands wrapped around his throat, and he had squeezed until the fingers clawing at his wrist had broken skin and drew blood. Billy had loosened his grip and allowed Steve to breathe, and they had both had fear in their eyes and regret in their hearts and they both knew, nothing would ever change. 

_ No. _

_ I would never. _

_ You can’t. _

_ I know. I would never. _

_ I love you. Steve,  _ please _ , I love you.  _

_ I would never.  _

 

It doesn’t happen often.

Only it does. 

_ Only, it does.  _

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are much appreciated!  
> [my dreamwidth](https://lavenderlotion.dreamwidth.org/) and my [my tumblr](https://lavender-lotion.tumblr.com/)


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